You're Crashing, But You're No Wave
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: Part of SwingGirlAtHeart's One in Four verse; based on the Shooting Star episode. When a gunman breaks into McKinley and Kurt breaks from reality, Finn has to hold things together, even if everything is slipping through his fingers. Oneshot. COMPLETE.


Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

The One in Four verse belongs to SwingGirlAtHeart and is borrowed with her kind permission. She also beta'd this, so she's pretty awesome.

* * *

_Case open, case shut,  
But you could pay to close it like a casket  
Baby boy can't lift his headache head  
Isn't it tragic?_

It was like a switch flipped. One second they were singing, bickering, playing the piano, banging the drums, shouting, yelling, laughing. The next they were stock still, eyes wide, staring at each other.

One gunshot. Then a second.

Puck snapped into action first, grabbing Rory by the arm and propelling him towards the wall. "Everybody down," he hissed. "Somebody get the lights."

"But what-" Brittany started to quaver, but Santana dragged her to the far corner behind the risers, arm tight around her waist.

Quinn turned off the lights, her hand visibly shaking, and ducked behind Mr. Schue's desk. Mike helped Artie out of his wheelchair. Finn shoved a rolling TV cart in front of the door, Mercedes pulling from the other side.

Rachel latched on to his shirt sleeve. "Get down, get down," she whispered, and he let her drag him towards the piano.

His heart thumped against his ribcage as he hunched down, Rachel tumbling into his side and hiding her face in his chest. "'Sokay, 'sokay," he mumbled, squeezing her shoulder a little too tightly.

He scanned the room, checking to make sure they were all still there. His friends crouched down on the floor, wide-eyed and so silent that it made his skin crawl. Kurt was directly across from him, curled up on the floor beside Blaine, their hands clasped tightly. Finn tried to squint at him in the dark, struggling to see his expression better and see for himself that he was okay, but he couldn't see his face clearly enough, and he didn't dare speak.

A high-pitched howl echoed in the hallway. Finn flinched; Rachel pressed her face to his collarbone. Someone whimpered, but he couldn't tell who it was.

Third gunshot, sharp and cracking. A heavy thump.

One of the girls was crying audibly; he could hear the _sh, sh, sh_ of someone else struggling to comfort and failing. He felt like he wanted to cry, his eyes burning hot and prickling, but his heart was pumping too fast and his head was spinning too wildly.

Someone had knocked the metronome off the piano in the furious dash to hide. It lay abandoned in the middle of the floor, tilted on its side, tick-tick-ticking in a steady beat, making the back of Finn's neck prickle.

Fourth, fifth, sixth gunshot.

Finn squeezed his eyes shut. He still wasn't entirely sure of the mechanics of prayer, but he prayed anyway- one long jumbled mixed-up supplication, begging God or Jesus or angels or his dad or whoever might be listening that everything was going to end up okay.

Someone rattled the choir room door.

He felt Rachel jump in shock, her small body freezing against him. The door handle thumped against the lock, the hinges hitting heavily. It halted with a metallic thunk. Footsteps echoed on the floor, sneakers squeaking on linoleum.

The other door banged sharply. Someone was pulling on the handle, yanking it as hard as possible. The hinges groaned in protest. Finn leaned forward, shoulders hunching around his ears, pressing himself back against the wall as if he could make himself small.

Movement caught his eye across the room and he jumped. Kurt crawled toward him on his hands and knees, his head down, his pants sliding on the dirty floor.

"Kurt, what are you doing?" Blaine whispered desperately. "Come back!"

Someone shushed him. Finn grabbed Kurt by the shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed in his ear.

He paused. Something was wrong. Kurt was shaking, vibrating under his hand, his body tensing and his joints locking. "Let me sit with you," he said, his voice raspy.

"But why can't-" Finn started to say, but Kurt huddled beside him, pulling his knees to his chest and dropping his forehead down.

"I need to stay here, okay? It's…it's safer."

Finn's stomach turned as he watched Kurt's shoulders give a violent hitch. In a second, he realized, he wasn't going to be Kurt anymore.

"Rachel," he whispered, leaning her up. "Go sit by Blaine, okay? Make sure he's all right?"

"But I want to stay with you," she pleaded, grabbing his elbow. "Please, Finn. I feel safer with you."

He looked from her desperate face to the back of Kurt's neck, pale in the shadows as he slumped further down. "I just….Kurt needs me right now, okay?" he said, ignoring the high pitched _sh!_ from across the room. "I have to make sure my brother's all right. You go sit by Blaine. Tell him Kurt's fine, he just…" His voice trailed off. Kurt wasn't fine. "Blaine can keep you safe too."

She bit her lip, gazing up at him with her large brown eyes half sorrowful and half accusing. He swallowed hard, waiting, and after a moment she edged carefully across the room to sit beside Blaine, linking arms with him and lacing their fingers together.

Finn slid a little bit more behind the piano, where it would be harder for anyone to see them. "Kurt," he whispered. "It's okay."

Kurt didn't look up from his folded arms, slumped down so low that Finn found himself staring at his shoulders. He didn't say anything, just curled up in a tighter ball.

Finn ran down the list. Not Craig. Not Truman. Probably not Robbie. Eleanor? No, probably not Eleanor.

He tapped Kurt tentatively on the elbow and held out his hand, close to his eye level. Kurt didn't look up, but after a moment his hand shot out and gripped onto Finn's fingers, wrapping around them so tightly it nearly hurt.

"Tyler?" Finn guessed, holding his breath.

Kurt tilted his head slightly to look at him, just enough that Finn could see one glassy eye. "I'm scared," he whispered.

Finn wriggled his fingers in Kurt's death grip, twisting until he could wrap his hand around Kurt's. His skin felt ice cold; Kurt's nails dug sharply into his fingers. "I know," he said. "I know you're scared, but you're gonna be okay, all right?"

Kurt reached out to wrap his other hand around Finn's. "I want Raleigh," he whispered.

"I can't get him for you," Finn said, his heart sinking. "Not right now. But it'll be okay, I promise."

"I want Raleigh," Kurt repeated. Both hands clutched at Finn's, pulling their linked fingers to his chest. Finn could feel his heartbeat rattling erratically against his ribcage.

"I can't, Tyler, he's at home," Finn whispered. He wrapped his arm around Kurt's heaving shoulders and pulled him closer. "We'll be home soon, though. We'll be all right."

Kurt quieted, falling still beside him and hunching back in a little ball, and Finn released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He rubbed his thumb along the side of Kurt's cold neck, feeling his pulse bounce and jump under his skin. They'd be okay. He'd keep Kurt calm, and they'd get out of this okay, and they could go home and forget about everything.

But Kurt's back heaved, and then again, but shorter, and then he gasped for breath. "No," Finn said. "No, no, no. It's okay. No. Sh, stop it. Stop it."

"I want Raleigh," Kurt whimpered into his knees. "I want Raleigh, I want Raleigh. I want to go home. I want Daddy."

Each word was punctuated by a sharp unsteady breath that left him barely able to speak. Finn wrapped his arm around Kurt's stomach and hoisted him into a sitting position. "We'll be home soon," he promised desperately. "Just calm down and breathe, okay? Just breathe."

Kurt had gone stark white, his eyes pale and glazed over, and it made Finn's throat clench. He'd seen enough of Tyler's panicky meltdowns to see the warning signs. "I can't breathe," he said plaintively, his collarbone heaving up once, twice. "'m dizzy. Make it stop. Make it stop, Finn, make it stop."

Finn unwound his fingers from Kurt's death grip and grabbed onto him, covering his mouth. "Sh," he hissed in his ear, coming out harsher than he meant. "You've got to be quiet, Tyler."

Kurt's breath was hot on his palm and he felt him whine into his hand. Finn wrapped his arms around his brother's waist and dragged Kurt onto his lap, settling him between his sprawled legs. "I've got you," Finn whispered, pulling him close. "I've got you, okay? Just be quiet. Quiet as you can."

Seventh gunshot. Someone in the hallway screamed, but the sound broke off abruptly.

Kurt pressed his face into Finn's chest, burying his face in the thin cotton of his shirt, and Finn wrapped his arms around him in a bear hug. He slid a little further down the wall, hiding them both behind the piano where no one, not even their friends, could see them, rubbing firm circles in the small of Kurt's back with the heel of his palm. Kurt slid his arms around Finn's neck and held on tightly.

"It's okay," Finn kept murmuring uselessly in his ear. He didn't know anymore if was going to be okay or not, but it was all he could do. Kurt clung to him like a drowning child, heavy and frantic, and Finn carded his fingers through his thick hair, shushing and murmuring and feeling like the most useless idiot on the planet.

The metronome kept ticking, jumbling with the beat of his heart and the thumping of Kurt's pulse into a jarring noise until the mixed up rhythms nearly made him sick to his stomach. Kurt curled up in a smaller ball against his chest, his arms tight around his neck. Finn stroked his hand up and down Kurt's back in firm smooth strokes, struggling to keep him calm as his own nerves frayed to the edges. He could feel the tenseness in Kurt's muscles, the way he would freeze up till his body trembled. Nothing he did helped.

He had never heard the choir room this quiet before. if it wasn't for the occasional whimper or errant sniff he might even think that he and Kurt were alone. All he could hear was the roaring of blood in his ears and his brother's ragged breathing against his neck.

"All clear!"

Finn flinched at the sound, biting back the urge to snap and tell the speaker to be quiet. And then it sank in.

"All clear!"

The voice came from the hall, firm and authoritative. He heard his friends start to murmur at each other.

"All clear!"

Finn started to shift but Kurt whimpered into his chest, fingernails digging in so hard he caught skin. "It's okay," Finn whispered in his ear. It still didn't seem right to talk aloud. "It's okay, it's all clear now."

Blaine knelt beside them, placing a gentle hand on Kurt's back. Finn bit back a wince as Kurt gripped harder. "Kurt? Sweetheart?" he said. Blaine's lower lip was red and raw, but he kept worrying at it anyway. "Are you okay?"

"Go away," Kurt mumbled into the crook of Finn's neck. "Go away, go away."

"Kurt?" Blaine ventured, placing his hand gingerly on his back, but Kurt made a sharp whining noise through his teeth, like an animal caught in a trap, and jerked away from him. Blaine flinched and swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"He's having a panic attack," Finn lied. "Just give him some space."

All around him he could hear his friends walking towards each other on unsteady legs, crying as they hugged and clutched each other. Finn bent his head over Kurt's, trying to shield him, but it took mere seconds before people began to pry.

"What's wrong with Kurt?"

"Is he all right?"

"What happened?"

Mr. Schue reached to touch Kurt's shoulder and Finn pushed his hand away. "Just leave him alone," he said. "He'll be okay. Just give him space!"

Kurt was crying a little, his tears hot as they dripped down the collar of Finn's shirt. Finn steadfastly ignored the gawkers gathering around them, slumping down further against the wall and keeping his arms around Kurt.

"C'mon, kids, let's get you out of here," an officer all in black ordered, a plastic shield obscuring his face. "Everybody out."

Finn stretched his cramped legs out gingerly. "C'mon, Tyler," he whispered in Kurt's ear. "We gotta get up."

"No," Kurt mumbled.

"You've got to get up," Finn said, stretching out his aching legs, his muscles prickling from sitting in such a strange position for so long. "We've gotta go."

Kurt clung to him harder, hunched up small between Finn's legs with his face pressed to his solar plexus. "C'mon, Tyler," Finn coaxed. "We can go home. I can get Raleigh for you. And Dad will be there."

Kurt looked up at him, his eyes glossy. "I want Daddy," he whispered.

Finn wrapped his right arm around Kurt's waist and pressed his other hand against the wall, pushing himself up slowly. "You can see Daddy once we're out of here," he said.

"You have to promise," Kurt whined, resisting Finn's efforts to lift him to his feet, his legs limp as he tried to slide back to the floor.

The others were staring at them. Finn gritted his teeth and hoisted Kurt up despite his protests. "I promise," he said. "You'll get to see Daddy and Raleigh in a little bit. "

Finn guided Kurt forward, supporting his weight as he took unsteady steps on his own. Kurt dug his fingernails into the backs of Finn's hands. "We're almost out, okay?" Finn said. "You-"

He froze. There was blood on the floor, pooling in dark splotches and trailing in lurid streaks across the tile. One perfect shoeprint marked the floor in red before fading into an unsteady pattern of smudged steps.

Suddenly he realized that Kurt had stopped resisting his grip. He could feel his younger brother vibrating against him, his fingers spasming against Finn's hands.

"No," Finn whispered. "No, no, no, Tyler, it's okay, it's okay-"

Kurt screamed, high-pitched and unhinged, and his knees buckled. Finn barely tightened his grip in time before he fell to the floor. There was blood everywhere, on the floor and the walls and even on the toe of Kurt's shoe, and Finn knew that Tyler wasn't seeing that, he was seeing something _else._

"Oh, shit, " Finn breathed. "Tyler, no. Close your eyes."

Kurt didn't say anything, or do anything, and somehow that made it worse. He just stared blankly at the brilliant red smeared on the floor in front of him, his chest jumping with every uneven breath. Finn covered Kurt's eyes with his hand.

It didn't do anything to help. Kurt made a sad little whine in the back of his throat as he lost his balance. He was folding in on himself, collapsing like a house of cards, and for a split second Finn wondered if Kurt might have to switch again so someone stronger than Tyler could get through this.

But switching the first time was bad enough, and the last thing he wanted was Kurt to switch in front of his friends again. He could handle Tyler, but he doubted he'd be able to keep Robbie or Eleanor or worse in check.

Finn pulled Kurt to his side, guiding his head to rest against his shoulder. "Just keep your eyes closed, okay?" he said, pressing his hand between Kurt's hitching shoulderblades. "I've got you."

He forced himself past the blood, his shoes skidding a little, feeling Kurt's heart pound too hard and too fast. He'd walked these halls a million times, but now they seemed unfamiliar- so unfamiliar that when he finally reached the double doors that led to the outside door he nearly cried in relief.

Outside it was cold and drizzling, but he sucked in a gulp of damp free air and nearly choked on it. He didn't care. They were out of there and they were going to be okay.

The school was circled by ambulances and police cars, red and white lights circling in lazy blinks in the gray late morning light. Bystanders pressed against the protective ring of bright yellow caution tape, staring and gawking and murmuring to themselves. Other McKinley students forged ahead of them, shell-shocked with tearstained faces. Television cameras and news vans leaned in as close as possible, trying to nab a decent angle at them.

Kurt tripped over a curb and fell forward; Finn struggled to keep his balance and grabbed at him, dropping his hand from his eyes. At the pale gray light Kurt finally made a sound, a small forlorn yelp in the back of his throat, and leaned his head on Finn's shoulder.

"Just a little farther," Finn coaxed, but Kurt slumped against him, too drained to move. Finn dragged him forward, forcing him to keep walking until they made it though the break in the cheerful yellow tape.

He sank down on a curb in the parking lot, settling Kurt on the ground between his legs, and an exhausted sigh broke from his throat. They were out. They were safe.

Kurt curled up between Finn's knees, resting his cheek on his thigh. "Where's Raleigh?" he asked in a quiet, broken voice.

"Soon," Finn said. "We just have to wait for Dad to come and get us, okay?"

He leaned his chin in his hand, his body bowing forward to shield Kurt from the light drizzle of rain. His body ached like he'd just run a marathon or aged fifty years. Maybe he had. Who knew how long they'd hidden in the choir room.

"When's Daddy coming to get us?" Kurt asked.

Finn fumbled in his back pocket for his phone. "I'll see," he said. His heart wormed its way into his throat as he dialed the number. Maybe Burt didn't even know about what had happened.

The phone broke off mid-ring. "Finn? Are you okay?" Burt demanded.

Finn sagged in relief. "Yeah," he said. "We're out, we're both out. We were in the choir room."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Is K-"

"No, he's okay too," Finn said. He glanced down at Kurt, still curled up between his legs with his cheek pressed to his thigh, rainwater dampening his hair and splotching on his white face. "Well, I mean, he's not shot, or hurt, but...he switched."

"To who?"

Finn swallowed hard. "Tyler," he said.

He heard Burt exhale slowly. "Let me talk to him," he said.

Finn switched over to speaker. "Tyler?" he said, nudging the phone lightly against Kurt's cheek. "It's Dad."

Kurt blinked and swallowed slowly. "Daddy?" he said.

"Hey, bud," Burt said, his voice gentling. "Are you okay?"

"I want to go home," Kurt said softly. A tear trailed down his cheek and he knuckled it away clumsily. "Can you come and get me?"

"Yeah, kiddo, I'm on my way now," he said. "You just stay with Finn, okay? I'll be there in a little bit."

"Okay," Kurt whispered. He touched the side of the phone lightly with his fingertip.

"Finn? You keep an eye on him, okay?" Burt said.

"I will," Finn said, running a hand over Kurt's rain damp hair. "How far away are you?"

"Ten minutes," Burt said. "Your mom's going to meet us at the house. Just sit tight. Keep Kurt safe."

Finn hung up the phone, a lump rising in his throat. Ten more minutes and he wouldn't have to be in charge anymore.

Kurt settled down against him, his arms wrapped childishly around Finn's leg as he rested his cheek against his thigh. Finn stroked his hair back absently as he stared at the noisy blur around them- people wailing, sirens blaring, rain dripping.

Suddenly Kurt bolted upright, sucking in a deep breath. "Oh my god," he gasped. "I...where...Finn? Finn?"

"Tyler, it's okay," Finn soothed, running his hand over his hair. "Daddy'll be here soon, he promised."

"No, Finn, it's me," Kurt begged as he crouched on the pavement, his fingers twitching. He looked like he was about to cry, his lips bloodless and his eyes darting around frantically. "Where am I? What happened?"

Finn seized his shoulders. "Everybody's fine," he reassured him. Kurt looked like he was going to pass out for a second; Finn pulled him up to sit beside him on the curb. "We got out. We talked to Dad a few minutes ago, he's coming to get us."

"He's coming?" Kurt repeated, his voice so small that for a second Finn wondered if he had switched back. He nodded, squeezing Kurt's shoulders. "And nobody's hurt?"

"Whoever it was, they didn't get to the choir room."

"Is...is Blaine..."

"He's fine, he's fine," Finn reassured him.

Kurt nodded, chewing on his fingernail. "And who...who came out?" he whispered.

"Tyler."

Kurt didn't say anything, but he gazed down at the rain-slick pavement as his teeth picked at a hangnail till it ripped away and bled. Finn huddled forward, clasping his hands together. Kurt leaned a little closer, till his cheek was barely resting against Finn's upper arm.

"Boys? Boys!"

Finn looked up to see Burt running across the parking lot towards them. Kurt jerked up, nearly tripping over his own feet, and bolted for him. Burt grabbed his son in a tight hug, pulling him to his chest. "Tyler?" Burt said, pressing his hand to the back of Kurt's head. "Tyler, it's okay. Daddy's here, kiddo, Daddy's got you."

"I'm not Tyler," Kurt sobbed. "It's me, Dad. It's me."

Burt paused, then held Kurt even tighter. "Oh god," he sighed. "My boy." Kurt wrapped his arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. "It's all right, kiddo. It's all right. I've got you."

He held out an arm to Finn and Finn hugged him too, letting his shoulders sag. "Let's get you two home," Burt said thickly. "C'mon."

He had them loaded up the truck and back on the road in short order, Kurt squeezed between them on the bench seat as the air vents blasted them with dry warmth. Kurt dozed off in short order, his head drooping limply on Burt's shoulder, but Finn was pretty sure he'd never sleep again. His body buzzed with pent up adrenaline, making his knees jiggle and his fingers tap on his kneecap.

But then they were home, and his mother was standing on the stoop with her arms crossed anxiously, and he was out of the car before Burt could even park. All it took was his mother touching his cheek, scrutinizing his face for blood or bruises or tears, and he was hugging her tight, feeling like he was a four-year-old who'd gotten lost in a shopping mall.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Carole asked, rubbing his back.

"Yeah, 'm okay," Finn said. "Just...scared, I guess."

She kissed the top of his head. "You're safe now, honey," she said. She pulled away a little, her arm still tight around his waist. "Burt, is Kurt all right?"

"Just fell asleep," Kurt mumbled as Burt helped him up the front steps.

She hugged him too, smoothing his rumpled hair and kissing his cheek. "He transitioned," Burt said grimly. "At school."

"Who was it?" Carole asked.

"He was Tyler for about...an hour and a half, I think," Finn said.

"Can we please not talk about this?" Kurt said. "I just want to go lie down."

He had gone gray around the mouth, like he was about to be sick, and Carole prodded him gently into the house, out of the rain. "Go on, go on," she said. Kurt pushed past her and disappeared inside.

Burt squeezed Finn's shoulder. "You boys just...take it easy for a while," he said.

That was an order he could manage. He changed out of his rain-damp school clothes and laid down on the couch with the intention of drowning himself in mindless video games, but he only got to the menu screen of Halo 3 before a sour taste rose up in his mouth. He switched it off instead and sank back in the couch cushions with the remote in his hand.

The Price is Right was on, and he realized suddenly that he'd only be in fourth period if he was stil at school. It wouldn't even be lunchtime yet.

He tilted his head back and stared at the screen, watching some overweight lady from Michigan get too excited over winning a kitchenette set. His mom and Burt talked in the kitchen in low voices, the sound reassuring, and he almost drifted off to sleep.

Almost.

Loud music suddenly bellowed from upstairs, making Finn wince. But it wasn't one of Kurt's familiar playlists, it was...

He flinched. Robbie.

He sank down further against the couch, arms crossed over his stomach. Maybe if he just waited long enough, the Robbie phase would pass and he wouldn't have to deal with it.

No such luck.

Kurt stomped down the stairs, barefoot in dark jeans and a gray tee shirt. "What're you doing?" he asked without preamble.

"TV," Finn said.

Kurt sank down in the loveseat across from him, slinging his long legs over the arm. "This shit's boring," he said. "Let me have the remote."

"No, I was here first," Finn muttered.

Kurt pulled it out of his hands anyway and started flipping channels aimlessly. "There's nothing good on," he complained.

"I could've told you that," Finn said. He pushed himself up. "You can have the TV. I'm gonna go crash."

He left Kurt channel surfing as he climbed up the stairs to his room. Let Mom and Burt handle Robbie. He couldn't deal with it right now. Not after today.

He stretched out on his unmade bed, leaning over to dig his phone from the pocket of his jeans discarded on the floor. He'd been flooded with texts and missed calls; he sank back on the pillows to answer them. Rachel's call took the longest to catch up on; he spent an hour alternating between comforting her and assuring her that he wasn't going have a nervous breakdown that required her coming over to care for him.

Half of the messages were about Kurt- Mercedes, Brittany, Mike, even Puck asked about him. He didn't know how to answer them. But he couldn't just leave their texts unanswered, so he made up some stupid excuse about a panic attack and left it at that.

He tried to go on Facebook, but he had to shut it down. All anyone could talk about was the shooting, and he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to hear other people's stories, or read the news reports, or see the names of the people he'd never see again. Maybe he'd be ready later, but not now. Not today.

His mother brought him up a sandwich, which he ate, and chips, which he didn't. She didn't say much and didn't pry, just set his lunch down on the nightstand and kissed him on the forehead. He was grateful for that.

He could still hear Robbie-in-Kurt's-body downstairs, turning up the TV volume too loud and bickering with Burt. Mostly it was their age-old tug o' war- Burt trying to get Kurt to eat something, and Robbie refusing. Finn closed his eyes, rolling over onto his side and pulling his pillow over his head. He didn't feel like listening to it anymore.

When he opened his eyes again it was dark out. Rain fell hard on the roof, pelting at his window, and thunder rolled in a low murmur in the distance. He sat up, stretching his neck gingerly and smacking his dry lips. It could have been five o'clock in the afternoon or the middle of the night for all he knew.

He staggered to his feet, scratching the back of his neck and tugging at the hem of his shirt, and wandered out into the hallway. Lights were on downstairs, warm and comforting, and he could smell his mom's lasagna cooking.

"Hey," he yawned as he padded into the living room.

"Hey, Finn," Burt said. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," Finn said. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Yeah, well, you probably needed it," Burt said. His mouth was grim and tight, his fingers closing a little too hard around the neck of the beer bottle in his hand as he stared fixedly at the game on TV. "Your mom's got dinner in the oven."

"Awesome," Finn said politely, sinking down on the couch. "How's, uh...how's Kurt?"

"Still Robbie."

Finn fidgeted. There wasn't a good response to that.

"You mind going up to tell him that dinner's almost ready?" Burt said.

Finn swallowed hard. "I...guess," he said.

Burt gazed down at the amber glass bottle in his hand. "Tell him he has to at least come sit at the table with us," he said quietly.

Finn hesitated, but finally nodded and headed back up the stairs, Robbie's music thumping louder and louder the closer he got. He knocked lightly on Kurt's bedroom door.

"Yeah, what?"

"It's Finn," he said. "Time for dinner."

"Yeah, I don't think so."

Finn nudged the door open. Kurt sprawled out on the floor, staring lazily up at the ceiling as his speakers thumping above his head. "Burt says you at least have to come sit at the table with us," he said.

"No, thanks," Kurt said, crossing his arms behind his head. He glanced up at Finn, raising an eyebrow. "Where've you been all day?"

"Sleeping, I guess," Finn shrugged. "Where've you been?"

"Listening to Burt and Carole bitch," Kurt said. "They've been talking about the shit that went down at school. Three people got killed, you know."

"Just come down to dinner," Finn sighed.

Kurt rolled over on his stomach. "So are you still in one piece, or are you going to fall apart and weep on me?" he asked.

Finn rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to weep on you," he said. "Some crazy guy with a gun shot up the school. I'm just kinda...keyed up."

"It wasn't just some crazy guy," Kurt said, resting on his elbows. "It was-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now, Kurt," Finn snapped.

Kurt's eyes flashed, the corner of his mouth drawing back in a sharp smirk. "Newsflash, Gigantor, Kurt isn't home right now," he said.

"Yeah, well, I kind of wish he was," Finn shot back. "You're kind of a dick, you know that?"

Kurt shrugged. "Fine by me," he said.

Kurt's phone rang, chirping "Teenage Dream" and vibrating off the edge of the bed before falling onto the floor. He picked it up and made a face. "Ugh, if Kurt's friends text me one more time..."

Finn snatched the phone out of Kurt's hand. A dozen missed calls, about forty unanswered texts. "Blaine's been trying to talk to you," he said.

"No, he's trying to talk to Kurt," he corrected, pushing himself up to sit on his knees. "I don't have to do shit."

"Blaine is Kurt's boyfriend," Finn argued. He held out the phone as it began to ring, a photo of Blaine and Kurt smiling cheerfully flashing on the screen. "Just send him a text. Let him know you're...that Kurt's okay."

"Hm, don't feel like it," Kurt retorted, but there was a slight twitch of his lower lip.

Finn hit the answer button anyway and held out it. Kurt looked at the phone, then looked up at Finn, raising an eyebrow.

"Kurt? Kurt, are you there?"

Blaine's voice sounded small and metallic and desperate over the speaker. Finn held it out, his teeth clenching. Kurt just stared at it like he was looking through a window.

"Kurt, sweetheart, please, just...say something. Anything. Just let me know you're okay."

"Put that away," Kurt mouthed. Finn shook his head.

"Why...why did you leave? Why didn't you stay with me? I...I could have kept you safe, if you...why did you want Finn instead...instead of me?"

Kurt's mouth twitched again.

"And then...when we got the all clear, you were panicking and crying and...it was like...it was like you weren't _you _anymore, and-"

Kurt slapped the phone out of Finn's hand, sending it flying into the wall. The screen shattered in a tiny, tinny crack. "I told you to stop it," he seethed.

"You can't leave me and Mom and Burt to clean everything up after you," Finn said. "Today was hell, Kurt. I was freaking out, just as bad as anyone else, but I had to babysit you."

Kurt wrapped his arms around his stomach. "Shut up," he said.

Finn took a step towards him. "Your friends are freaking out," he said, his voice rising. "They're all trying to figure out what the hell's wrong with you. Because they saw, Kurt!"

"Shut up," Kurt repeated, clamping his hands over his ears.

The phone began to ring again, singing "Teenage Dream" in a distorted little warp from the cracked speakers, and Finn pressed closer. "They watched you push Blaine away and hide with me like some scared little kid; they watched you have a meltdown," he shouted.

"Shut the fuck up!" Kurt screamed, his shoulders hitching. The phone paused, then rang again, clashing with the angry music still blaring from the speakers.

"They watched you switch, Kurt!" Finn bellowed. "And guess what? They're gonna ask questions, and you can't hide from them forever! You can't just keep giving them your lame excuses, and you can't let me and Mom and Burt lie for you!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Kurt screeched, hunching away from Finn.

"I'm tired of lying for you!" Finn shouted. "I'm tired of babysitting! I'm tired of having everything revolve around you, because you know what, Kurt? I was there too! I was there too, and I had to listen to the gunshots and see the blood and deal with everybody asking what the hell is wrong with you because-"

Kurt let out a high-pitched wail and slid down against the wall, hiding his face in his hands. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," he begged, and with a sudden twist of his stomach Finn realized that he wasn't Robbie anymore. "Stop it, stop it..."

Finn ripped the iPod off the sound system and switched off the phone. Now the only sound was Kurt sobbing into his hands. "I'm sorry," Finn whispered, kneeling on the floor beside him. "I'm so sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean to get so mad."

Kurt sobbed harder as Finn got closer, turning away and pressing himself into the wall as if he could turn himself invisible through sheer willpower. He was crying too hard to make much sense, and Finn felt his heart sink like a lump of lead.

"Burt!" he called, unable to keep the terror out of his voice. "Burt, come up here!"

He'd never seen Kurt switch this many times in one day. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again, but Kurt flinched away from him so violently he hit his head against the corner of the nightstand, yelping in pain like a kicked puppy.

"What's wrong?" Burt demanded.

Kurt looked up at him through tear-wet fingers, unable to speak. Burt looked from him to Finn and back, opening his mouth like he was about to say something, but he stopped. "You're bleeding," he said. Kurt raised a shaking hand to his temple and shrieked when he saw blood on his fingers.

Burt blinked and turned to Finn. "He's not Robbie, what's-"

"I think it's Tyler again," he said numbly.

Kurt kept curling and uncurling his bloody fingers, whimpering, and Finn watched Burt snap into action. "All right, buddy, it's okay," he said, tucking his hands under Kurt's armpits and picking him off the floor. Kurt shivered, his unbloodied hand reaching out to tentatively tangle in Burt's shirtsleeve. "Don't cry, Tyler, it's just a scratch."

"I want Raleigh," Kurt whispered.

Burt nodded to Finn, who ducked his head and started digging around through the dresser drawers, messing everything up until he found the familiar little elephant. He handed it to Kurt, who grabbed at the plush toy hungrily and tucked him against his chest. But he was still crying, tears mingling with the little drips of blood on his cheek. Burt wiped the smears with the cuff of his shirt.

"Don't cry, buddy," Burt said, sitting down on the edge of Kurt's bed and pulling him down to sit beside him. "C'mon, don't cry."

Kurt cuddled into his side, hiding his face in Raleigh's plush fur, and Burt rubbed his lower back firmly. "You want to go down and eat something?" he asked. Kurt shrugged. "You want to wait a little bit and calm down first?"

Kurt nodded, letting out a shuddering breath, and Finn let himself quietly edge towards the door. "I'll tell Mom," he mumbled. Burt nodded, not looking up from his child.

They came down half an hour later, Kurt's face scrubbed clean with Raleigh still clasped firmly under his arm. He only picked at his dinner, and truthfully Finn didn't feel much like eating either, but his mother kept looking at him anxiously so he forced himself to eat, swallowing gobs of food that felt like sawdust in his mouth.

They all sat together in the living room after dinner and watched a movie- Finding Nemo, one of Tyler's favorites. Carole sat in the armchair with her newest crochet project, and Finn slumped across the loveseat, but Kurt sat as close to Burt as he could manage, his back pressed to his father's chest as they sat together on the couch. Finn watched Kurt out of the corner of his eye. He held Raleigh tight, pausing occasionally to brush his cheek against the plush or to breathe in the comforting smell of the stuffed animal. Burt let him lean against him, one hand resting on Kurt's stomach and the other stroking his hair back from his forehead, until Kurt's eyes drifted shut.

Finn got up before the movie was halfway through. "Think I'm going to go to bed," he said.

"Are you feeling all right?" Carole asked.

"Yeah, just tired," he said.

He went over to give her a hug, closing his eyes at the way his mom smelled like Dove soap and floral perfume, the way she had always smelled for as long as he could remember, and the little-kid-lost-in-a-mall feeling overwhelmed him for a split second.

"Night, Momma," he mumbled, accepting her kiss on his cheek.

"Goodnight, baby," she said. "Sleep well."

He nodded. "Night, Burt," he said.

"G'night, bud," Burt said.

Kurt looked up at Finn, his eyes drowsy and bluer than usual, and Finn paused. "Hey, Tyler, do you...could I give you a hug goodnight?" he blurted out.

Kurt nodded, pushing himself up and waiting for his hug. Finn knelt down beside the couch and waited for Kurt to put his arms around his neck.

None of the other alters ever wanted to hug him- and truthfully, he didn't really want them to. Kurt rarely hugged him, and usually it was still standoffish, a bit at arms-length. But Tyler hugged without holding back, actively seeking the comfort of being held.

Finn impulsively kissed the top of Kurt's head. "G'night, Tyler," he said.

"Night," Kurt said, leaning back. He held up his toy. "Say goodnight to Raleigh?"

Finn patted the elephant on the head, earning a pleased smile from Kurt. He grinned back. Kurt leaned back to burrow into his father's side, hugging Raleigh to his chest, and Finn stood up slowly to go back upstairs. Tyler didn't remember what Finn had said. Kurt probably wouldn't. Robbie might, but he'd cross that bridge when and if they came to it. But it didn't make him feel any less guilty.

He crawled into bed, pulling up the messy covers around his shoulders, but he couldn't fall asleep. He stared up at the shadowed ceiling instead, listening to the muffled sound of the movie playing in the living room below him. Later, he heard Burt coaxing Kurt up the stairs and putting him to bed. And later still, he could hear the soft voices of his parents talking- about the shooting, about the aftermath, about how this was the most Kurt had ever switched in one day. Burt wanted to take him to the doctor the next day, just to be cautious, and Carole agreed.

Finn pulled the blankets over his head, but he didn't fall asleep until it was far past midnight, and when he finally drifted off, he dreamed about gunshots and metronomes and bloodstreaks on a white floor and a little boy hiding alone under a piano, too frightened to cry.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

It is no secret that I am hugely in love with SwingGirlAtHeart's One in Four verse. (And also Margaret and I are friends, so there's that too. We need to have a sitcom together. It would be hilarious.) And while we would absolutely murder each other if we ever attempted coauthoring, her verse often gives me feels and ideas, and I end up writing things for it.

(Also, if you're confused on the basis for this, One in Four centers on Kurt dealing with dissociative identity disorder, with several alters- Craig, Truman, Eleanor, Robbie, Zack, and a couple more that you meet within the course of the story. Tyler in particular is Kurt trapped at eight years old, when he was in the violent car crash that killed his mother. I also highly recommend that you read the original story. Be prepared for trauma and feels, because Margaret is a lovely yet vicious author.)

After the Shooting Star episode, someone asked how the OIF!Kurt would react to the shooting, and Margaret said that Tyler would emerge. Basically this made me explode, and Margaret gave her blessing for me to write it, as long as she could approve it. So several word-vomiting sessions and some verbal wrestling matches over Skype later, this was created.

So please enjoy the feels. I hope it made you cry.

(But if you cried, I'm really sorry because I don't like hurting people's feelings.)

(I am deeply conflicted.)


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